Not Alone
by svlpjes16
Summary: I need to know this is all real. That I'm sitting here beside the fire and that he's sitting across from me. I need to know that I'm not imagining the whole thing. That I didn't escape alone, suppress the memories of my family being murdered – of us being separated – and lose myself in some twisted hallucinogenic coping mechanism. But, our eyes connect and just like that... I know.


**Hey! Thanks for reading! This story will be about Daryl and Beth's time together after fleeing the prison. I'll be focusing on their friendship and the way they bond, because I really like their friendship . . . and maybe something a little more later. We'll see….**

**Disclaimer: I do not own The Walking Dead or the characters. **

"Say something."

Nothing.

No words.

No movements.

Silence.

"Say something" I repeat myself.

It doesn't work. Or, he doesn't care.

I uncross my legs, stretch them out, and start to stand. I take a small step forward, but the fire is a heated barrier between us. I'm beginning to think he chose his seat deliberately.

"SAY SOMETHING!"

I'm yelling before I even realize I've opened my mouth. The sound of it- the frustration lacing my words – startles me far more so than it does him. He doesn't stir. He just sits there.

Silent.

Starring.

Stuck.

But I need him to say something. _Anything._ I need to see his mouth move, and hear that gravelly hoarseness that coats all his words. I'd even settle for a grunt of irritation. _Something._

I need to know this is all real. That I'm sitting here beside the fire and that he's sitting across from me. I need to know that I'm not imagining the whole thing. That I didn't escape alone, suppress the memories of my family being murdered – of us being separated – and lose myself in some twisted hallucinogenic coping mechanism.

But, our eyes connect and just like that I know.

I _know_ it's real. He doesn't have to say anything at all - his eyes have that covered.

And I suddenly find myself looking away. The desperate reassurance I craved only seconds ago proves too overwhelming, too unbearable right now. His eyes are heavy with a certain sorrow, a certain dejection. Utter despair swirls around the devastation already filling his eyes, and without room for it all, the heartbreak crammed inside of him comes rushing out through a single, longing glance. It hits me hard, right in the chest.

But it's that certain sense of _knowing_, of understanding, painting his eyes that causes my breath to hitch. The kind that's sympathetic and compassionate and apologetic all at the same time. The kind that engulfs the face of the person who understands they have to tell you bad news, something you aren't going to want to hear, and something they most certainly don't want to tell you. Something you both don't want to be true, but is. The kind of bad news that you so desperately want to avoid telling someone, so you do, as long as possible. And, instead, you give them a look. That look. _The_ look. And they understand.

So, I knew.

I knew what he thought.

I knew he didn't think we'd find them.

That they were all dead. Or missing. Or hurt.

They were gone.

I shake my head quickly, breathing in so fast I almost cough on the air as it races down my throat, making it dry and scratchy. I steady my breathing and take in another deep breath. No.

"We're not the only survivors" I say quickly. And I believe it.

I don't think they're all dead.

I don't think they're all gone.

I _know_ they're not.

I shake my head again, but he's still perfectly content remaining silent. It's gnawing at my nerves and I can feel the frustration, the annoyance as it churns my stomach and causes my teeth to clench.

He's given up on them.

Just like that. He's given up on them, let them go, dismissed them from his life.

How he could possibly do that was beyond me. After everything we've been through together. After everything that's happened?

I thought he was stronger than that. I thought he had more faith than that.

I try to bite my tongue, but the words are bubbling up in heated passion and there's not much I can seem to do to stop them.

I'm mad. Beyond angry. Beyond any kind of anger or frustration or disappointment I've ever felt. It's as if my whole life, or, well, the last year and a half of it anyway, didn't mean anything at all to him. Our family, our people, our _life_ together as a group didn't mean enough for him to even want to _try_ to cling to even the slightest bit of hope. The only reason we had all survived this long was because we had each other. He knew that. I know he did. Or at least he had at some point. Now, it was as if he suddenly forget about all of them and all of it.

_They_ were our _life_. They were our _family_.

I snort out angrily and shake my head in overwhelming disbelief.

"So you're not gunna say anything?" I say sharply. I take another step closer to him, as close as the fire between us will allow.

This time, he doesn't even bring his eyes to meet mine. We've made that connection already. He's given me his message. Said what he needed to say.

I let out a frustrated breath and shrug my shoulder, my dirty blue tank top strap sliding down my arm. I push it back up quickly, and run a hand quickly through my greasy blonde ponytail.

"Well that's great" I say, nodding as sarcastically as I can manage. I never really was good at that sarcasm thing – it was always more of Maggie's forte.

"Real great, Daryl." The bitterness tastes as bad in my mouth as it sounds against my ears. "You're just gunna sit here and sulk when they're out there? They need us, Daryl. Some of them are probably hurt. They're scared, some of them are children, Daryl – children - who don't know what to do, and some of them might be alone. We need to help them. We need to do something!" I continue, my voice rising. I stare toward Daryl, trying to catch his eyes, but he's too fascinated on the fire, refusing to look at me.

"They're our _family_, Daryl!"

He blinks hard for a second. Just a second. But that's it. He doesn't say anything. He doesn't even look up. He just keeps staring at that fire. Ignoring me like I'm not even there. Maybe he's trying to push me away too. Forget me, let me go, forget I ever existed too. Just like the rest of them. In some warped way, try to make it easier on himself.

No.

Not now. Not _ever_.

I won't let him do that.

"Our family, Daryl. Remember them?" I say, my voice harshly cuts the air that's getting chillier by the minute.

"Rick" I spit the name at him, wondering what he's thinking as I do. Is he recalling how close they had grown? Like brothers I'd swear. How'd they always had each other's back – no words necessary? How the two of them were a perfect team, keeping us all safe? Or maybe how Rick had always done right by him, when, as I was sure, others had not always done?

Silent.

"Carl" I say a bit louder. Was he thinking about how the kid had come to view him as some sort of uncle figure, and the unique friendship they shared? The many times the boy had asked him to teach him the technique of the crossbow? The talks the two of them shared – the ones we had all seen at some point or another, but had never quite known their content?

Starring.

"Maggie" Maybe he thought about the time the two of them went on that run shortly after we got to the prison? How Maggie had gripped his jacket tightly? It was her first time on a motorcycle, after all. Or, maybe he went back to how well they worked as a team – killing walkers and getting things taken care of.

Stuck.

"Glenn" I had known Glenn had been with him from the beginning, and I'm sure they had made a pretty strong connection in that time before I knew them. Maybe he was thinking about that? Or maybe he was thinking about how he'd tease him and my sister about being up in the guard tower?

Nothing.

He's still silent. Starring. Stuck.

I'm ready to watch his reaction on this next name. I know they share a special bond, and I know they care about each other a lot. What it is beyond that, I'm not quite sure. But if I had to label it, I'd call them best friends.

I didn't see her though. I didn't see her during the battle. I didn't see her leave. I didn't see her at all. I hope she's alright. I hope she got away okay.

"Carol"

His eyes shift, moving back and forth slowly. He looks as if he's deep in thought for a few seconds, and an emotion I can't quite explain comes over his face. Remorse? Regret? Disappointment? I'm not sure. But then it's gone, and he's back starring at the fire.

I wonder what it was exactly he had thought of. What had come to mind? Their friendship, I'm sure. How he had held her tight, falling with her to the ground as her poor little girl came out of my Daddy's barn? How they'd stay up late at night talking in their cell down the hall? I'd heard them many times and their relaxing, comforting friendship always made me smile.

Or was he thinking about how she had comforted him after he had come back that day, telling us all about Merle? Or, how they'd watch over Judith together sometimes when Rick was out on watch? Maybe he was thinking something completely different, I don't know. Maybe he thought of words left unsaid, emotions untold – maybe how he'd have said something different a long time ago if he had known they'd be separated before he'd have the chance? Maybe.

"Tyreese" I know they hadn't known each other long, but I knew they got along well. Maybe he thought of how they had gone on that run to get medicine a few days back?

"Sasha" I knew they were on the council together and they'd gotten closer because of it. Maybe he thought of their new friendship? Or, how they'd spent hours in that room with the rest of the council, trying to decide what was best for the group?

I watch him closely. I know that if any name is going to get him to stir, it'll be this next one. I know he loves that little girl like she was his own. I know he'd never let anything happen to her, and the fact that we don't know where she is right now is killing him just as much as it is me. I hoped someone else in our group had got her and was protecting her, and I know 's thinking the very same. Maybe Rick had grabbed her up, or Maggie, or Tyresse. Maybe she was fine, giggling and happy as I stand here right this second. I like to think that's true.

Maybe he'll think about the first time he held her? All the times he fed her and played with her and watched her? Maybe he'll think back to the moment he gave her her nickname, and maybe he'll think of all the times he called her Little Ass Kicker? Maybe he'll think of the way she always seemed to rest her little head on his chest and fall asleep? Or maybe he'll think about her soft little fingers gripping onto his, the way she would look at him with those big eyes, or the way she smiled and giggled when he'd smile his smile back?

"Judith-"

"Stop" The silence suddenly breaks. His word is soft, hoarse, raspy, and there's not much tone behind it at all. But it's a word. It's something.

He's not completely gone. He's still here. He still cares.

A smile starts to break through my lips, and the frustration and annoyance boiling inside me starts to settle.

I look to him, and start to speak gently. "Daryl she could be-"

"Stop" He cuts me off. His words are harsher this time, and they cut through the air intensely. I watch him for several seconds, as he pulls at his hands forcefully. I think I see his leg shift.

"All I'm saying-"

"Damn girl, shut up!" He yells quickly, the force of his words take me by surprise and I cock my head looking at him. His eyes shoot up to mine for the first time in minutes.

It's silent for several seconds. He's starring at me. I'm starring back. He's trying to tell me yet again that he thinks they didn't make it. I can tell that's what he's doing. He thinks they're all gone. That's what this is.

But he's wrong.

They're not. They can't be.

I'm not going to accept that.

And I won't let him either.

"No, Daryl! I'm not going to shut up!" I yell back at him after a few seconds, and the sound of my voice as angry as it is takes me by almost as much a surprise as his did moments before. I suddenly feel almost ashamed, almost embarrassed. I've never yelled at him before. I've never confronted him before. I've never had too.

I get a sudden wave of guilt, of shame. My Daddy raised me better than to yell at people – especially an adult. It was always "yes, sir" or "yes, ma'am." But, somehow, I felt my Daddy would be on my side this time. He was never one for giving up on the people he loved.

Daryl squints at me –maybe my sudden outburst of anger has taken him aback as well. He continues to look at me, signaling me that he's not going to interrupt, and so I continue.

"I'm not going to give up on them! I'm not going to just sit here when they need us. You can if you want. If you really don't believe they're out there. If you really believe they're all gone then fine!" I stormed around the fire to get closer to him, but he didn't move from his spot on the ground.

I didn't know what I was going to do or what the point of me storming over to him was. But it somehow seemed right to do so. "You can think that!" I yell, "You can sit here and stare at that fire all night long. But I'm gunna find them!"

I turn around quickly and head back toward the woods, but stop short and turn to face him again. "You're a tracker, Daryl. I could really use your help. Even if you think I'm crazy. Even if you think I'm stupid and immature for trying to find them, for holding onto them, go ahead! I don't care. But if you ever cared about them at all, if you ever loved them, you'll at least _try_ to help."

And I turn around again, stalking off into the woods. I wasn't going to wait for him to make up his mind, but I desperately hope I'll hear him come up behind me. I listen carefully, waiting for the crunch of a twig or the thud of his feet against the dirt as he stands up. But, I'm getting further and further away from him, and I can feel my heart begin to beat faster and faster at the nerve wrecking idea that he isn't coming. But I won't let myself stop. I can't. I can't let them go, and I can't stay with him if he's willing to do so so freely.

So, I'll go off on my own if I have too. But even as I think it to myself, I can feel a pit growing in my stomach, my heart beating even faster, and an overwhelming sense of uncertainty wrap around me tightly. It restrains my steps, and I struggle to move forward, but I do so slowly.

I'm just about out of earshot, a few more steps and I know I won't be able to see him anymore. I'm starting to panic, I'm starting to freak out. What if I made the wrong choice? What if I should have stayed with him?

No.

I think part of the reason I'm walking away, is because I believe he will follow me. I believe, truly, wholeheartedly believe that no matter what distance he's trying to put between himself and the group, and no matter how many defense mechanisms he surrounds himself with in a desperate effort to thwart the pain – Daryl still cares. He still loves this group, this family. _Our_ family.

And I suddenly feel like I might just burst into tears at the overwhelming frustration I'm feeling. I am so stuck, so utterly and completely conflicted like I've never been before.

Because Daryl _is_ my family. And, right now, he's all I have left.

I can't lose him too.

Even if that means we can't find the others. Even if that means we don't see them again. Even if it means that they're gone.

I can't lose him too.

My steps start to slow, but for some reason, I continue to trudge forward with everything I have. I think I may be desperate now. But, I think I'm hoping, I _know_ I'm hoping – I'm praying to God actually – that maybe, just maybe he can't lose me either.

The only reason I'm still able to walk away is because I hope it'll get him to follow. That he needs me as much as I need him. That there's no way he'd be able to willingly let another person he loved just leave him.

We need each other.

My heart is pacing faster and faster, but my steps are coming slower and slower. I'm praying he'll just get up and follow me. I'm praying that I'm right about him – that he does still care. That he always has and still does love the group. That he needs me just as much as I need him.

My steps have now slowed to a stop, and I stand there frozen. I close my eyes and take in a deep, shaky breath. _Please, Daryl. Please. Please._

_Hoooooooooh._

He blew out the fire.

My eyes shoot open.

_Crack._

He snaps a piece of wood in half and tosses it aside. I can hear the small _thunk _as it lands in a nearby shrub, and the soft step of his boots against the ground as he stands.

I smile.

He's coming.

**Thanks for reading! I hope you guys liked it. Please feel free to drop a review, I'll really appreciate it! Next chapter should be up within the week!**


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